Dirty Dealings
by irishhair
Summary: Vince has been going through Naboo's stuff again, but this time he's found something very interesting.
1. Chapter 1

"Vince, what've I said about going through my stuff?" Naboo was standing in the doorway with his arms folded.

Vince smiled cheekily at him from his seat on the bed.

"Alright Naboo?" he grinned

"No I'm not actually. It took ages to categorize those potions. Next time you want a favour you can forget it," Naboo turned swiftly on his heel and started out the door.

Vince was unfazed by this dramatic display. He had an ace up his sleeve

"All those back copies of National Geographic and Jane Goodall documentaries you have under your bed... I may have moved them around a bit," he said with a look of pure evil, "I'm sure they'll turn up, though, I put them somewhere that should be easy enough to find. Even if you weren't looking for them, really," he went on, idly examining his fingernails.

"What? Jane who? I don't know what you're on about," Naboo said feigning calm

"National Geographic? You sure that wasn't yours? It was a series on 'the mighty apes of Africa"

"I only got it for the articles!" Naboo hissed hurriedly, "It's not what it looks like"

"I'm sure," Vince patted his hand gently, "Can I have a half holiday? It's Howard's birthday again next week and I want to go shopping for something nice to wear... I might get him a present while I'm at it actually," Vince was no longer talking to him but off in a shopping fantasy world

"Take the day off. Buy whatever you want and charge it back to the shop," said Naboo flatly

"Cheers Naboo" Vince smiled, before walking over to the wardrobe and retrieving an ageing cardboard box with 'magical waste: hazardous, may cause your hair to fall out and make you gain two stone' written on the lid. Apparently Vince had copped it that all the best stuff was labelled like that.

He held the out the box and Naboo took it gingerly.

"Don't worry your secret's safe with me," said Vince happily picking out a new outfit for shopping

"Yeah, until you want another half-holiday," Naboo said with invective.

He went back into his own room and stuffed the box back under his bed. He was sliding out from underneath, when Bollo walked through the door casually. Naboo jumped and hit his head on the frame of the bed.

"Yes what is it, Bollo?" he asked in as dignified a tone as one could manage under such circumstances.

"Vince say you wanted to see me," Bollo said deferentially.

"Yeah... I needed you to clean out underneath Vince's bed for me and put everything you find in Howard's secret hallowed out encyclopaedia Britannica he thinks we don't know about,"Naboo replied bitterly.

"And help me up."


	2. Chapter 2

"This is bloody war," Vince muttered.

He'd just spent forty minutes explaining to Howard why he had a shoebox full of photos of the jazz maverick (embarrassingly enough including a clipping from a dodgy magazine shoot from Howard's youth he'd pilfered from his room) and how it had ended up in Howard's "secret" hiding place.

Alright, so he might have twisted Naboo's arm a _tiny _bit with the National Geographic thing. It was his own fault for having such fun things hidden in his room along with his private incriminating magazines. Everyone knew if you were told not to look somewhere, you only wanted to look more.

Still Naboo fancying Bollo, that was a bit of a shocker. In hind sight it was easy to see the signs. How was he supposed to pass that up? As blackmail went, it was pure gold.

What he hadn't counted on was Naboo fighting dirty too, the slippery bastard. Two could play at that game.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Naboo felt himself drift gently into consciousness from a great distance.

_Is it a pervert?_

_No, perverts have beards, my mum told me_

_He doesn't have any clothes on_

_How do you know it's a he?_

_Maybe it's an alien_

He opened his eyes and fuzzy images of small humans swam in front of him. He felt cold for some reason. Who were all these little people?

"What are you lot doing here," he slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

He must have been completely wasted last night.

"This is a playground mister," said one little person with its hands in its pockets.

Oh children. That explained a bit.

"Are you a mister? You haven't got a thingy?" the impertinent child continued.

Naboo looked down at his body. He was naked. How did that happen?

"Vince," he muttered murderously.

~-~-~-~-~-~-

Naboo opened the door to the door, wearing only an anorak a sympathetic twelve year old girl had given him. It was just barely skimming his arse and he dragged it down irritably. He heard a quiet cackle and he turned to scowl at Vince.

"Rough night?" the electro poof asked smirking cruelly, "Pink's a good colour on you."

"This is far from over," he said and left the room dramatically, the effect somewhat compromised by the anorak twirling behind him.

He walked through the door and straight into Bollo. He felt the blush rising up his neck, that could only be more noticeable with the bright fuchsia.

"Morning Bollo," he muttered with fierce embarrassment choking him.

Bollo slowly looked Naboo up and down (or down and further down to be completely accurate) and blinked.

"New look?" he asked curiously

"No," Naboo replied flatly.

He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and scuffed his feet on the carpet. His legs were trembling slightly. Without prompting, Bollo picked him up in his large arms. His thumbs were just brushing the crease underneath Naboo's buttocks. Naboo felt his cheeks (all of them) burn and he hid his face in the crook of his familiar's shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

Vince swanned down the stairs and through the beaded curtain to the shop at half past three. His head was pounding and he was hiding bloodshot eyes with a pair of oversized sunglasses. He'd have to come up with a new look during his tea break to incorporate them into a fashionable ensemble. Because Vince Noir didn't just look shit after a night out, like some boring non-sunshine person, he was beauty incarnate, he could party all night and look like a million dollars all throughout, he was Vince Noir for fucks sake. He needed an aspirin

Howard looked up from the desk, about to haul Vince out over being late, when he froze and his eyes doubled in size, nearly reaching normal proportions.

"Your hair." Howard said in a small, almost frightened voice.

For God's sake, one morning without Root-Boost and even Howard noticed. He must be slipping.

"Is it that bad?" he asked, forgetting all about an excuse he'd thought up for being late, involving killer raisons disguised as house flies.

"It's... different," Howard said slowly, "But if you like it, I'm sure it's fine. I don't know what's supposed to be cool."

"Howard it's slightly deflated, you don't need to tiptoe around me like it's the end of the world," Vince tutted.

Howard continued to stare at him.

"Have you seen a mirror yet today?" he asked.

"What kind of a question is that? But, now that I think of it, no actually. Satisfied?" he spun around on his heel and went to swipe at the Victorian tweezers display with an ostrich feather duster that had once been part of a jacket that hat suffered a fatal accident with a pair of straighteners.

He felt Howard shuffling up behind him and tensed. Howard tapped his shoulder and looked at his shoes when he turned around. He passed him a hand mirror with an ornate oval frame. Vince rolled his eyes, removed his sunglasses and looked into the glass, before screaming and hurling it away from him.

"What the fuck happened to my hair?!" he shrieked.

"It's not that bad," Howard said soothingly.

"Not that fucking bad! Have you seen it?" Vince continued hysterically and started to cry.

"Hey there, little man. Don't cry, it's just hair," Howard said in what he hoped was a comforting tone, while patting Vince's shoulder gently.

Vince let out a pathetic moan and buried his face in Howard's chest and sobbed. Howard rubbed his back with one hand and murmured platitudes into his friends ear. He lifted a bleached strand of hair between the fingers of his other hand. Vince's head was covered in irregular stripes and blotches of orangey blond hair, among the glossy black. In a strange way, it reminded him of Vince's blonde highlights when they'd been in the Zoo. He didn't say anything though, Vince would not have appreciated a comparison between his carefully maintained feather cut and this coiffure cock-up.

"You can die it back again," he said softly into the shell of Vince's ear. Vince trembled like a leaf in his arms so he held him closer, but the shaking only continued. Finally, he was holding Vince in a tight bear hug and he was whispering to him, his lips so close to Vince's cheek, they were brushing lightly across the pale skin like feather light kisses.

The front door burst open and they jumped apart. Naboo walked across the threshold with Bollo in tow holding bags of shopping.

"What's going on here?" said Naboo, indicating the broken mirror, "That's seven months bad luck."

"Years," Howard corrected him.

"Naw, that's just a myth, seven months is what you get. But there's a parole after four months if you avoid black cats and ladders." He turned to look at Vince, "This the new look then? Can't say I'm taken with it. It almost looks like someone replaced half a bottle of your shampoo with kitchen bleach," he said, completely straight faced.

The bastard. Vince grimaced menacingly.

"Thanks for the hint, Naboo," he said through gritted teeth, "Gotten any good magazines recently? I understand the National Geographic is doing a series on-"

"Bollo, we're going. Put the shopping away." Naboo exited the room quickly.

"There's no need to be ungracious Vince," Howard said, "it's just his way. He was trying to help, I'm sure."

"Yes," said Vince, "I'm sure I shall be 'helping' him with something in return very soon."

There was the distant reflection of fire dancing in his pupils and his jaw was set in determination.

"Would you like me to dye it black again for you, Vince?" Howard asked innocently, idly plucking at a strand of Vince's hair.

Vince thought of Howard's wet hands caressing his scalp and gently brushing tendrils of hair out of his face. Revenge could wait for a little while.


	4. Chapter 4

Naboo went through another drawer with a rising sense of panic. It had to be here somewhere, there was no way that he'd left it lying around somewhere.

"Looking for something?" Vince asked from the doorway, fiddling with a strand of his newly restored hair.

"What do you want for it? Money, time off work? I won't even try to get you back this time just tell me what you've done with it," Naboo asked, some anxiety creeping into his trademark calm voice.

Vince looked at him with a predatory look in his eye.

"I've mailed it to the Board of Shaman," he replied at length, examining his fingernails.

Naboo sat down heavily on his bed.

"You're lying. You want me to panic and offer you more," he said, though he knew that he was only fooling himself.

"It's gone a bit beyond half holidays and shopping trips at this stage Naboo. You went after my hair." Vince looked more dangerous than he ever had, "I must say it was an interesting read. Very educational, I was never sure how you did it exactly," he went on casually, shaking his thin wrist from side to side to illustrate his point.

Naboo felt faint with, what felt like, all the blood in his body rushing into his face.

"You've gone too far this time Vince," he said shakily.

"This is why keeping a diary is a bad idea. Don't write things down that you don't want read," Vince replied cruelly.

"I can't remember things if I don't write them down," Naboo muttered into his chest, "When did you post it?"

"This morning, first post," Vince said gleefully and giggled for some unfathomable reason.

Naboo nodded slowly and got to his feet.

"Excuse me please Vince," he said with dignity and walked out of the room.

He made his way to the living room, running on autopilot. There was nothing Vince could possibly do to him now, and in a way that was liberating. When he arrived, Howard was watching a subtitled documentary about the history of the French horn and Bollo was doing the Times crossword (nineteen across: banana, seventeen down: banana, four down: shaman) on the couch. He cleared his throat and they looked towards him in polite confusion. Usually he'd announce himself with a call of, 'Oi, ballbags.'

"I don't know if you've noticed, but Vince and I have been having a minor disagreement these past few weeks," he said quietly.

Bollo and Howard shook their heads, nonplussed. Naboo rolled his eyes before continuing.

"Well anyway, we have, and he's taken it upon himself to send my diary to the Board of Shaman. Which is why I need to do this. It's better in the long run," he scrunched up his face and looked at both of them in turn.

He let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes. Vince couldn't do anything to him, but if he let the Board settle this with a bloody 'mediated chat/group therapy session' with a full council, then things would get unimaginably worse. He opened his eyes and made his way across the room, wishing that his legs were longer, or the room was smaller. He placed himself in his familiar's lap and covered his mouth his his own.

"That's it really," he whispered and ran off back to his own room, where thankfully Vince had buggered off.


	5. Chapter 5

"Naboo this is Saboo speaking. You're going to come out of that room right now!"

There were two shaman that Vince recognized from Howard's birthday party, outside Naboo's door, trying unsuccessfully to coax him out.

"Naboo, this is ridiculous. We don't care what you have a fiddle about, everyone has their secrets."

"Not everyone has their secrets read out to a council of their peers, you ballbag," a muffled voice came from behind the door.

"Come on Naboo, we've all forgotten what it was about at this stage. Kirk got out the absinthe out and we spent seven hours chasing the green fairy," Tony Harrison said to the impassive door.

"What are you talking about? I don't remember that ever happening! Naboo's diary, containing several extremely explicit fantasies, was sent this morning by first post and Dennis read the whole thing out in one sitting. It completely ran roughshod over my initiative for a more efficient filing system."

"Saboo, you bloody outrage, I was trying to make him feel better."

Vince sighed and walked out of the hallway. He hadn't meant for it to go this far. Well he had, but he hadn't expected to feel sorry about it. Naboo was a mate and he liked him a lot. It wasn't his fault who he fancied after all. In the living room Howard was sitting quietly, looking deeply confused.

"Alright Howard?" he asked half heartedly.

"Vince," Howard said, looking at him with a strange look in his small eyes. "What's all this with Naboo?"

"We were having an argument," he replied shortly.

"I gathered," Howard said shortly, "But what is going on? With those shaman here and that business with Bollo and I thought the two of you were friends? What did he do that made you do that to him?"

Vince felt guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't look Howard in the eye.

"It got a bit out of hand. I found out he liked Bollo and tried to blackmail him. Then we sort of started trying to one up each other." He looked at his knees and felt Howard's shocked stare bore into his back.

"Do you remember when you had to fix my hair?" he asked his knees.

He was rewarded with a sharp intake of air from beside him. Which was gratifying.

"I took it too far this time, though. Hair grows out eventually."

He looked up at Howard with a look of remorse. Without thinking, he leant over and kissed Howard on the lips, quickly.

"He's even now," Vince blushed.

"Oh," said Howard.

"Yeah," Vince replied, apologetically.

"The photos?"

"I've been collecting them for three years," Vince said and looked away in embarrassment again.

"Vince-" Howard began.

"Listen, Howard, we need to have this out, but right now I have to go and say sorry to Naboo."

He left a very confused Howard and went back to the corridor outside Naboo's room. Tony and Saboo weren't having much luck with him apparently.

"You're acting like a child, Naboo. You wouldn't catch Kirk acting like this."

"I dunno, Saboo, he did get very embarrassed when we found all those dead prostitutes in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Hi guys," Vince interrupted them, "Can I talk to him for a bit?"

They shrugged and walked off in the direction of the kitchen (well Saboo walked and carried Tony, under duress).

"Hey Naboolio, it's Vince. I know you probably don't want to hear anything that I have to say, but I'm sorry. I was a right little bitch to you. Can you come out please? Talking to this door is well awkward."

There was a small click and when Vince tried the handle the door swung inwards on its hinges. Naboo was sitting in the middle of his bed with his legs drawn up under his chin. His eyes were slightly red, but other than that his blank expression gave nothing away.

"You alright, Naboo?" he asked, sitting down next to the tiny shaman softly.

"Been better," Naboo said, staring at a spot on the wall.

"Do you think that you can come out now?" Vince asked gently.

"I'm alright stopping here for the moment," he replied quietly, almost to himself.

"I'm really sorry. Would you feel better if you turned your back on me?" Vince's voice wobbled.

"No... I don't think so. Thanks for saying sorry though," it was impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"I'm sorry I stripped you and left you in the park."

"I'm sorry I put bleach in your shampoo."

"I'm sorry I tried to blackmail you."

"I'm sorry I put cat poo in your white Chelsea boots."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Can I do anything that'll make it up to you?"

"Not really."

Vince put his arms around Naboo and rested his head against his shoulder. Naboo sighed and leant his head against Vince's. After a few minutes, Vince felt someone tap his shoulder and looked up to see Bollo shuffling nervously next to the bed. He pressed a kiss into Naboo's dark black hair, detached himself from the shaman and left the room quietly.

*~*~*

Naboo looked up shyly through the curtain of his hair before turning his head away again. Two large hands were placed either side of his face and he looked back again slowly. Bollo sat down next to him and pulled him into his lap. Naboo buried his face in his familiar's chest and breathed in his musky smell. He felt his hair being petted and looked up into Bollo's oddly coloured eyes. For the second time in twenty four hours, he kissed the primate. This time, he didn't pull away, and there was a hand stroking up his inner thigh and a definite stirring from underneath where he was sitting.

"This is all kinds of wrong," he whispered.

Bollo kissed him again.

*~*~*

Vince was noisily making toast in the kitchen, rattling cupboard doors and singing, trying to drown out the muffled noises coming from down the hall. Howard walked in, looking shaken.

"Those two shaman have left," he said, sitting down at the table.

"Right," Vince replied and nodded, before shuddering at one of the ragged moans drifting through the flat, "I like a happy ending and all, but this is a bit weird. Like listening to my little brother going at it, or something. Hey Howard, what're you doing?"

Howard was walking towards him purposefully and walked him into a corner until the kettle was poking him in the back.

"Howard?" he asked uncertainly.

Their hips were touching and Howard was gripping his arm firmly.

"I think we need to have a little chat, Vince," he said before kissing the smaller man and pressing him against the counter.

Well, Vince thought, talking was over rated anyway.


End file.
